


Always Come Home

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-04-28
Updated: 2005-04-28
Packaged: 2018-12-26 17:27:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12063675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Justin learns the meaning of having the last words.





	Always Come Home

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

Author's Note: Not beta'ed so all the booboos and shtuff are mine. Just a little something that popped while playing Tetris...

* * *

You were packing in the loft, getting ready for your first trip with Brian after you publicly coerced him into admitting you were more than the trick who wouldn't leave. Lost in your thoughts, you didn't hear the loft door slam shut or his shoes on the hardwood floor. He snuck up behind you and wrapped his arms around your torso, pulling you into him. His breath felt hot on your neck and you relished the feeling. As you turned around and caught that first glimpse of his face, you knew that he was about to give you bad news.

"But this is our trip, Brian." You declared adamantly as you threw the shirt in your hands onto the bed. He stepped closer to you and reached out for you to come to him, but you didn't.

"It's business." He offered as way of explanation, but you were tired of that answer. It always seemed to be business. He said he'd come back and then your trip could commence, but you didn't want to play second 'excuse the expression' fiddle. 

You didn't say a word, just grabbed your suitcase full of everything you might need for a few days, and zippered it up before dragging it behind you. He asked where you were going, and when you reached the loft door you answered him with a curt tone. 

"Justin, don't be a drama princess." He admonished, but you were too angry to listen. 

Instead, you threw down the suitcase and marched up to him. It was hard to be pissed after a look in those hazel eyes, but you kept your mind focused and made it through.

"Go on your stupid, fucking, business trip." You yelled at him. "But I won't be here when you get back. In fact, I don't even care if you do come back." And with that final word, you left the loft.

Now you're at Debs, watching the old, almost broken, television set when the interruption comes on the screen. You find it hard to believe and flip through the stations, but the same picture is plastered on every channel. There's a flashing number on the bottom of the screen for friends and family members to call. 

The words, 'No known survivors', scroll across the bottom of the screen, but you try to ignore it. Deb comes in offering you a plate of cookies and glass of milk. It falls to the floor, shattering and crumbling, when she sees the look on your face combined with the news on the television. 

The only thing you can think of is the last thing you told him. _'In fact, I don't even care if you do come back,'_ replays in your mind like that of a broken record. Your whole being wishes to take it back and lock it away. You try to breathe, try to say something, but nothing comes out and nothing goes in. Deb rushes to you and pats you on the back, her quivering voice telling you to breathe, but you remain unsuccessful. In a haste, you stand and move towards the door adamant that if you had more room, then you'd be able to breathe. You step over the cookies, lying in a heap on the floor, and fling the door open.

There's a shadowy figure on the stoop and you see the swirl of smoke around their head. As he stands, you gasp because you've never seen a ghost before. You know there's panic all over your face, and you can see the sadness in his. There's not a word spoken when you fall forward into his waiting arms, only happiness that he didn't get on that flight. He murmurs apologies into your hair and says he tried to call, but your phone was off.

"I always want you to come back." You tell him as the tears stream down your face.

"And I always will." He answers pulling you in for another close embrace.


End file.
